Time for Another Proclamation

To the wilds of the internet, I do NOT write like bloody Stephen King. I tried to get through one of his novels and found it to be absolute dreck to my tastes. To be extremely narcissistic, I sometimes quite enjoy my own work. So, no matter what any text analysis suggests, I do NOT write like Stephen King. Some people would say, 'Oh, that's great,' but I would rather write like bloody Mark Twain. Bloody bloody bloody.

New Template?

Anyone like the new template? Who doesn't like rain and a summer chill? I certainly would, if there was any chill in hell's waiting room.

I may also review Battle Royale since I finished it... a bit ago. And Is Sex Necessary?! Just think of the book reviews I could do when I wasn't openly procrastinating.

I Must Make a Proclamation.

I know I have not posted in ages. However, something must be said so that I feel it has been said to many--in this case to the wilds of the internet. I am NOT a lesbian. I have one really good best friend who I know very well (or so I think!) and who knows me very well. Nearly 15 years of such a friendship can and has resulted in a very solid relationship wherein we can sometimes complete each other's sentences and thoughts, we are well versed in most cases in things the other likes, and have thus far preferred each other's company for these very reasons. This does NOT mean that we are anything more than friends. Although I cannot expressly speak for my best friend because I have never asked her, I can speak for myself and I say that I am NOT a lesbian. I am perfectly entitled to have an awesome, close best friend without that meaning it goes into THAT area.


To sum up: I AM NOT A LESBIAN. I SIMPLY WORK EXTREMELY WELL WITH MY BEST FRIEND.

(And as a side note, no of course I do not condemn lesbians. I am simply tired of being periodically asked whether or not I am one.)

What Are Extraterrestrials Really After?

Do You Know Who I Feel Sorry For? / He Do the Policemen in Different Voices

I am thinking of historians who will have to document this time period--perhaps 100 or 200 years in the future. Despite the fact that digital archiving is improving at break-neck speeds, I can't imagine the difficulty of trying to construct a narrative from sifting through the words of a society who is being crushed under massive, enforced documentation. As I read earlier in a lecture given by Margaret Thatcher in 1968:

"Consider our relations with government departments. We start as a birth certificate, attract a maternity grant, give rise to a tax allowance and possibly a family allowance, receive a national health number when registered with a doctor, go to one or more schools where educational records are kept, apply for an educational grant, get a job, start paying national insurance and tax, take out a television and a driving license, buy a house with a mortgage, pay rates, buy a few premium bonds, take out life assurance, purchase some shares, get married, start the whole thing over again, receive a pension and become a death certificate and death grant, and the subject of a file in the Estate Duty Office! Every one of these incidents will require a form or give rise to some questions, or be recorded in some local or national government office. The amount of information collected in the various departments must be fabulous. Small wonder that life really does seem like 'one damned form after another.'"

Not only that, but so many people can and do choose to air or at least write down their thoughts, feelings, and everything else. From the trivial to the momentous, from the sacred to the profane--we save so much. They will probably look at it and say (in whatever language they're on), "Quantity over quality."

In my own project right now, I face some subjects who had no reason or inclination to speak, or were not allowed, or did not seem to warrant mention from others. While that presents its own set of challenges, imagining the sheer number of journals fraught with personal fears, e-mail about imminent evenings, and pointless blog entries (rather like this one!) that are part of the archival materials of our generation, I feel much more warmly than I once did to my corner of eighteenth century England.

Book Review: Murder at Madingley Grange

I really feel this needs to be done. Partially because I sense the wizards about, and partially because I was spectacularly appalled with this novel which really should've been fun and light. So, without further ado...

MURDER AT MADINGLEY GRANGE by Caroline Graham
Genre: Mystery.
Rating: Poor. Really fecking poor!

This is meant to be a take on the English country house mystery. We know the formula: a group comes to a picturesque English country house called Madingley Grange for the weekend, someone gets killed, suspicion and romantic entanglements ensue. Normally, I love these. I say "normally." The novel is a somewhat more modern take on the formula--instead of a visiting group in, say, the 1920s or 1930s, we have a brother and sister (Simon and Laurie Hannaford) who are watching their elderly aunt's house while she goes abroad during the summer, probably set in the 1980s. The brother comes up with the capital idea that they could stage a country house murder weekend with paying guests, costumes, etc. Laurie is hesitant, but finally agrees. They hire a dodgy butler and maid (really, really dodgy), arrange the guests, and get ready for the big weekend.

Then we meet the guests. We have faux snobs (the Saville mother and daughter), the sort of people you can imagine singing "I'm a Cockney/I'm a Cockney" (the Gibbses, including Mr. Gibbs's mother), a man who has been invited along in order to cozy up to the Saville mother in order to remain engaged to the daughter (Martin), a mystery aficionado and his wife (the... Gregories?), another mystery fan called Mr. Gillette (don't remember much about him) and... that may be all? They honestly got so tiresome, I just wanted the murder to happen to everyone.

I will also make mention here of the hired help plotline, which is not really resolved in a satisfactory way. We have two people calling themselves Gaunt and Bennett. I believe Gaunt is the butler and Bennett is supposed to be the chambermaid. We find out during the course of the novel that they are actually brothers called Ben and... someone from a crime associated family (mother is on the game, father is in prison). They are hoping to steal some valuables in order to make a quick pound. Their ruse involves "Bennett" dressed as a woman--including a fake bust.

So, where should I start? First of all, almost all of the characters are unlikeable, and as I read, I found that the narrator didn't like them either. She puts in sarcastic comments outside of their dialogue. The Savilles are snobs, the Gibbses are vulgar, Simon is a manipulator, and the Gregories consist of an over-zealous mystery fanatic who is so irritating and his tired wife who is just... tired. Martin and Laurie are cute, as is their romance subplot.

However, what is not cute is what Ms. Graham does with them at the end, which is representative of the sort of nonsense she employs throughout the rest of the book. Their storyline goes along much as one would expect in a mystery novel like this. As mentioned above, Martin comes into the Grange secretly engaged to the Saville daughter. Similarly, Laurie is engaged to a man called Hugh who doesn't attend the weekend because he claims that he's ill. At the end, the engagement between Martin and his fiance is off and he and Laurie have decided they love each other. As they're attempting to arrange rides for people who want to leave, Laurie's fiance arrives with another woman (she's called Poppy and she's an idiot--and so is Hugh for secretly dating her). They announce their affection for each other and say that they couldn't go on deceiving Laurie any longer. So, this engagement is also off. Laurie is surprised, but agrees and then introduces them to Martin, calling him darling. And we get to hear more piffle from Poppy. Then everyone decides in corny style to go out for dinner together and be good chums.

Same tacky, shallow conclusion to the staff plotline. The faux murder occurs, which Simon and Gregory's wife convinces everyone is a real murder. The staff, who have previously cut the phone lines and removed the rotor arm from the only working vehicle on the property, panic and leave, taking the car with them. Do we ever see them again? No. Hugh says that the van has fallen over into a ditch, but there is never any attempt to resolve the arc.

Similarly, a number of the guests leave at the end, but not all. They're leaving a day early, so Simon and Laurie are technically still stuck with some of the guests, but there is no conclusion to that either. The final ending is even more absurd. Completely unrelated to anything else that happened in the house, the elderly aunt reveals through narration that she's been trying to make up her mind about who to leave Madingley Grange to. She would prefer Simon and Laurie, but she isn't sure. So, she arranges to leave the various nieces and nephews in charge of the Grange for two week periods after which she returns unexpectedly to find out how they've been taking care of things.

So, we have many loose ends, cliched characters and tactics, and an ending that has absolutely no effect on the events of the novel. This book has taken me ages to get through, and even finishing it took me a concentrated day and a half. Caroline Graham created a wonderful beginning for Midsomer Murders, but we don't like Evil Tom or Evil Troy and her non-Barnaby novels are really no better. Poor effort!

And St. Valentine's Day!

I expect you think I'll mention it! Well, I... may! But mostly I'll just change the theme again to reflect the capitalist inflicted season. No, I really don't mind. I have no weird hangups about "Oh God I need a boyfriend on Valentine's Day or my life is worthless." That is so ridiculous, and it's entirely invented by television, films, and the Valentine's Day wizards who strum harps instead of saying bark. It's a nice formality for people who are in relationships and want an excuse for gifts or sex. Conversely, for people who like chocolate, it's like Christmas!

For all of you nosy people in the vastness of the internet, I'm sure you want to know what my special plans are. I will be spending the whole day and night with my significant other(s). His name is Education, and our sometimes third is called Clion, the male version of the muse. We're going to be naughty and move beyond the theoretical to the practical--and read about public history! I'm already quivering in my designer lingerie.

Tsk Tsk!

Our sister blog hasn't created a new post in two whole months! I do declare... that... smells like... mutiny!

(Hopefully if we do mutiny, she'll actually leave the ship instead of just saying, "Yeah?" and making us call Worf.)

An Example of Our Modern World Found... In the Twilight Zone

So, I am refusing to go to sleep because that's a trick. (I'm sure of it! I've been awake for days and they're not going to get me now!) Instead, I am watching an episode of the 1980s Twilight Zone called 'Button, Button.' Really weird freaking people, neither of whom are redeemable which is unusual--even Mr. Steward is rather unpleasant. This story/episode is apparently what some new film is based on, but I am, of course, inclined towards anything in its Twilight Zone format (even from the 1980s), and I don't like the looks of the film.

I first came across this episode looking at some background information about the various incarnations of The Twilight Zone. The ending to this episode sounded Rod Serling delightful, and it totally is. (It was not this fact that kept me reading the Wikipedia page, but instead the bit about Harlan Ellison and Nackles, which is so horrible it's hilarious.) And indeed, I vaguely wanted to see 'Button, Button,' but forgot until tonight (when I was fighting off the things that try to steal pieces of your soul while you sleep). There was also Richard Matheson (the original writer), apparently disapproving of the new ending. Though his is good, the one in the episode retains the Twilight Zone twist.

However, we must come to the point of the post! In this episode, I find a comment extremely representative of the times we live in. Mr. Steward, the creepy sender of the button, comes to explain about the device to the woman. He says that if she pushes the button someone will die and also, "You will receive $200,000, tax free." First of all, $200,000 is good, although today it would be a million probably. But secondly and most importantly, I find it highly amusing that he adds 'tax free.' This puts me in mind of the posts on Amazon.com during their 10th Anniversary Wishlist Sweepstakes. A good number of people were informing everyone that if they won, they would be forced to pay taxes on their winnings! Kill joys all, but most importantly symbolic of the capital obsessed populace, who even in the 1980s were on the look out for catches. (Aside from that whole 'Someone will die' thing... The husband was the one to worry about that between scowling at his Smeagol/Gollum wife, as a poster pointed out.)

In closing, Rod Serling, Richard Matheson, and Burgess Meredith are awesome.

Also, to the reader of the blog, some of these episodes sound damn creepy. Kentucky Rye, for example. We should add the 80s Twilight Zone to the list of things we ought to do a marathon of--whilst chomping on vegetables. (Maybe the promise of vegetables will get one of them off the ground.) (And also defend against the things from the darkness and the wizards who say bark.)

January is Upon Us!

And with it, the general blank dreariness of winter... In this part of the world, anyways. It's time to listen to "Waiting for the 7:18" by Bloc Party, and drink cocoa. Until I deserve some cocoa, I sit here beside my new cat themed engagement calendar and peruse the internet shops. Or at least, the one I generally use. And there I find a vague want of many things, but not a burning need for anything. Just like wanting to eat, but not being able to think what--an insatiable hunger, notable for its lack of definition. Look up at my stack of books to read, and none of them particularly stick out. I want to read them all--there is no specific yearning for any one of them. Only tiredness, and a general feeling of helplessness for being able to look at the shops and food and my books and feel a sort of prohibition. Like I can look at them but I can't actually read them, that gifts are fleeting, and that eating will not solve anything--for just now or even longer, I know not.

That is bloody dreary. It's this background, I bet. Maybe these boss fruit snacks will cheer me up! Who wants a cheerful picture?!

We hope you had a pleasant Christmas and wish you a beardfully plenty New Year!